


From Afar

by PicklingProse



Category: To the Manor Born
Genre: Gen, a little fic exploring Brabinger's relationship with Audrey, and a happy ending!, hurt with the tiniest bit of comfort, which I consider to be a rather good - if not understated - friendship., written from Brabinger's pov.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PicklingProse/pseuds/PicklingProse
Summary: Moonlight protruded from a small crack between the curtains in the drawing room, double glazing now shielding the interior of the manor from the cold which Brabinger recalled sweeping in mercilessly through an open window some ten years ago...Christmas at Grantleigh hasn't always been as warm as that of '81. Brabinger reminisces on the change throughout the years; once in '71, and once in '81.
Relationships: Richard DeVere/Audrey fforbes-Hamilton
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	From Afar

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by the amazing omnishambolichologram on Tumblr. Thank you so much for your help! (And right in time for Christmas, too!)

_ Dec. 26th, 1971. _

The sun had set quite some hours ago, moon and lantern light now illuminated the grounds and walls of Grantleigh and a translucent layer of white covered most surfaces outside. The wind that swept in through the window was chilling and refreshing in the way only winter air can be. It wasn't usual for a window to be opened at this time of year, but Brabinger could hardly deny that Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton had been right in making the request. After a full week of Christmas preparations, the eventual party, and the cleaning up thereof, the manor felt somewhat stuffy.

He could only hope the fresh air would do something to refresh her more than a night's sleep would. She was exhausted, even the light rouge on her cheeks was unable to conceal the utter colourlessness of her face.

Brabinger pulled himself away from his  comfortable position at the window, once more exposing his presence to the room's only occupant.

"Does madam require anything else?"

She looked up at him in the starchy manner that only ever occupied her when she didn't know how else to behave. Privately, Brabinger was of the opinion that she was quite vulnerable whenever she was this stiff and formal — a perfect diversion.

"A glass of brandy, please," she said, words smooth and clipped.

"No sherry tonight, madam?"

"I could do with something stronger," she sounded less pronounced, less secure as she uttered those words; her position ever so slightly slumped.

"Of course, madam."

Brabinger swept out of the room, feeling a prick of guilt as he closed the door behind him. No one should be allowed to be alone when they felt as Mrs. fforbes-Hamilton did, but he was hardly in the position to do anything about it.

With a small silver tray in hand, brandy and a glass balanced on top of it, Brabinger returned to the drawing room. Audrey's head snapped up at the sound of the door opening; something of composure returned to her as she looked at her butler, acknowledging him with a curt incline of her head.

"Your brandy, madam."

"Thank you, Brabinger," she said, her words sounding more sincere than he'd heard in the past two days.

He tucked the tray under his arm, sense of duty winning over sentiment. It wasn't his place to offer her comfort, it likely wouldn't even be appreciated. Being an onlooker had its advantages, but sometimes it could make one feel so desperately powerless.

He had been part of Grantleigh for practically his entire life, his position comparable to that of a dearly loved piece of furniture; ever-present and reliable, yet not a part of anything but the residence he served in.

“Will that be all, madam?”

At least he could do his job well — and he hoped a competent butler would serve as something of a comfort to her.

"Perhaps you could see to Marton," she said, raising a hand to rub her neck. "He's in his room, I believe."

"Very well, madam," Brabinger turned around to leave, when she called him back.

"When you've finished, would you please bring me a glass of water and an aspirin? I've a dreadful headache."

"Of course, madam."

He obliged as if it was the most ordinary request in the world, but Brabinger was well aware of the order in which she asked him to execute his tasks. First, he was to see if Marton was truly in his bedroom; and then she meant to find out the answer through him. It was easier to avoid her husband when she knew where he was.

Brabinger found himself wishing for earlier, simpler days. When both of them had been younger and he, only a footman at the time, had been able to lift up little Miss Audrey and hop around with her on his back whenever she looked sad. Childish tears followed by a bout of cheerful giggles, big eyes full of enthusiasm when he set her down again.

_ "I wish you were my nanny!" _ he could still hear the little lady — her nickname downstairs — saying it, but couldn't quite recall his reply to the toddler's words of admiration. He only remembered feeling quite sorry for her, a fiery little girl put in the care of a nanny with a Victorian air about her.

If only things could be so simple now; if only he could just make her laugh and all would be well again. But they'd both grown older, their positions had changed, and her problems had far surpassed being denied a biscuit.

* * *

_ Dec. 26th, 1981. _

It had been the first Christmas at Grantleigh that Brabinger could describe as warm. A Christmas like they ought to be, rather than just a superficial party to show off the  _ "Christmas spirit" _ that so clearly lacked within the walls of the manor. Christmas Eve had been a grand festivity this year, lacking neither spirit nor guests. After a large buffet, guests flocked happily into the entrance hall to continue the festivities, whereupon they had been greeted by the small village choir. It had all been as beautifully orchestrated as any party at the manor, with its rightful lady back in place, but everything felt  _ just _ a bit better this time around than years prior. Guests agreed that this Christmas must’ve been the warmest Grantleigh had ever experienced, finally having a marriage with a solid base of love as the foundation of it all.

Christmas day had been comfortable and small, with just a handful of family and friends. Marjory, the Brigadier, the Rector, and a cousin of Richard's that none of them had previously met. A fine chap from Czechoslovakia, his English and manners more reminiscent of Mrs. Poo's than anyone else's. The party had been a bit hesitant on welcoming him in their midst first, but their initial reserve melted away when they saw the mutual respect between him and Richard. Brotherly in a way no brothers at the manor had ever been. Brabinger had seen the wistful hint on Audrey's face as she observed them, but it'd disappeared the moment Richard turned to her with a beaming smile, beckoning her to join the conversation. Audrey had a family now, a real one, and it appeared that Richard was set on showing her that. She'd come to accept it in due time, Brabinger mused to himself, and he rather hoped it wouldn't take her too long; she deserved as much.

Festivities passed and decorations were taken down the next day — again overseen by the lady of the manor — and a simple, happy warmth had been retained within the walls. One that couldn't be brought on by a cosy fire in the drawing room, nor obliterated by the seasonal cold outside.

Moonlight protruded from a small crack between the curtains in the drawing room, double glazing now shielding the interior of the manor from the cold which he recalled sweeping in mercilessly through an open window some ten years ago.

"Does madam require anything?" Brabinger asked the sole figure left in the drawing room. Her tall figure slumped just a bit; enough to be comfortable, yet not quite so much to look unsophisticated.

"A cup of cocoa, please, Brabinger," Audrey DeVere replied with a tired, yet satisfied smile on her face.

"No sherry, madam?" he couldn't help but ask, a vague feeling of déjà vu coming over him as he did. Whatever the previously similar situation was like, he knew they both found themselves in a pleasanter position now.

"No thanks, Brabinger. I think I've had enough alcohol in the past two days to supply me for the rest of the year," she said, followed by an unsuppressed laugh.

He suddenly remembered: nine Christmases ago felt like a parallel universe. Brabinger hadn't been able to make Audrey laugh then, but Richard DeVere finally succeeded — and with it, dismissed the worst of her troubles. Or perhaps those had already disappeared with Marton's death, though she preferred not to mention that relief too much.

"Is anything the matter, Brabinger?" her voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back into the present.

"Pardon me, madam," he smiled at her — just small enough to be appropriate for their ranks. "I was just thinking how lovely this Christmas has been."

"Yes, it certainly has, hasn't it?" she smiled fondly back at him, clasping her hands together. "I don't think I've ever enjoyed a holiday more than I have this year."

Her enjoyment was tangible in the very air of the manor, Brabinger noticed with great delight.

"Neither have I, madam."


End file.
